


turn any corner, there's something new

by balanceds



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Actor Louis, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Blow Jobs, Broadway, Dresser Harry, Dresser Liam, M/M, Public Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Solo Artist Zayn, Stage Manager Niall, just a lot of backstage hijinks really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 19:56:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1911774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/balanceds/pseuds/balanceds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. After graduating from uni with his degree in Costume Design, Harry Styles is finally ready to start as a dresser on his first real West End show. Nothing can get in his way. </p><p>Well, except for maybe dressing Olivier-winner Louis Tomlinson. Who Harry has not-so-secretly been wanking to for years. Even worse, although Louis has never commented publicly on his sexuality, he seems to be paying a worrying amount of attention to Harry's arse. Staying professional proves to be difficult.</p><p>(basically lots of fluff, backstage hijinks, and a dab of smut)</p>
            </blockquote>





	turn any corner, there's something new

**Author's Note:**

  * For [treetrunks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/treetrunks/gifts).



> hi treetrunks--hope that you enjoyed and that i didn't stray TOO far from what you wanted! xx
> 
> _original prompt: AU where Louis is on broadway and harry is either an audience member or helps backstage.... broadway!au basically with harry admiring louis from what he thinks is afar when actually louis likes him a lot._
> 
> many many thanks to the lovely [lila](http://ratchetlila.tumblr.com) who is quite literally the most perfect person in this fandom. beta and britpick in one. let me guarantee this would be trash without her. i wouldn't choose anyone else to go temporarily insane with. all of the love.
> 
> title comes from the song "nothing is too wonderful to be true" from the musical dirty rotten scoundrels. if i owned that or anyone depicted in this fictional work i would not be nearly so broke.
> 
> thanks for reading!

\--

"STAGE DOOR."

Harry has been staring at the otherwise unremarkable black door for at least two solid minutes now. He _knows_ , right, that he shouldn't be intimidated to open the door and go inside. He's a production crew member, for Christ's sake, he's _supposed_ to open the door and go inside.

Telling himself this doesn't seem to be making much of a difference, so far, but Harry has always considered himself an optimist. He keeps staring at the door, willing himself to take the plunge and walk inside.

Before he can work up the nerve, a hand darts past him and grabs the door handle assuredly, pulling it out and forcing Harry to jump back in surprise. "Sorry, mate," the boy attached to the hand says pleasantly. He looks about Harry's age, maybe a bit older, with blond hair that Harry suspects is dyed and an open smile. "Here for Scoundrels, then?"

"Er, yeah, guess so," Harry mumbles. The stranger holds the door open and gestures for Harry to go through, then follows him into the narrow hallway behind the door. Harry can't fucking believe he's actually inside the Savoy Theatre--and without having managed to open the door himself. He looks around a bit, somewhat disappointed that it pretty much looks like a hallway.

"First show in the West End?"

Harry looks back at his door-opener. "How could you tell?"

The boy laughs. "I had about the same look on my face my first time. Bit scary, innit."

"A bit, yeah," Harry admits. "Never done anything quite like it before."

"I'm sure you'll get the hang of it," the stranger tells him confidently. "I'm Niall, Niall Horan. One of the Assistant Stage Managers, so if you have trouble getting adjusted or finding anything, just come to me and I'll help you out." He's already proving true, steering Harry adeptly through the passageways of the backstage.

"Thanks, mate. I'm Harry. One of the dressers."

Niall's eyes widen a bit. "Ah, so you'll be working for our lovely Wardrobe Supervisor. Cheers, mate, best of luck to you."

Harry can't be bothered to question Niall's reaction, because they've just got to the stage. Like, a proper West End stage. With lights, and seats--because in just over two weeks, an audience is going to be in them. Harry's throat feels a bit dry. He cautiously makes his way onto the stage, still feeling rather unworthy.

And it's not like Harry isn't prepared for this job, right. He didn't slave over his Costume degree from Wimbledon for three years (and get honours) for nothing. But this--this is a big leap from the student productions that he's used to designing for, and even from the smaller, community theatre-esque productions where Harry served as Wardrobe Manager a couple of times.

It's the fucking _West End_ , and Harry still just can't quite believe he's there.

"Right, then," an older man at the end of the stage says, clapping his hands twice. The fifty-odd people milling about the stage instantly silence and turn towards him, so Harry follows their lead, trying to stay near to Niall. The man who clapped is broad-shouldered, with black hair just beginning to have some salt-and-pepper streaks in it. Quite fit for an older guy, really.

The man clears his throat and continues. "Hopefully you're all actually here for _Dirty Rotten Scoundrels_ \--if you're still hoping to find _Let It Be_ , we've taken over and you're out of luck. For those of you who don't know me, I'm Ben Winston, Technical Director for this production. Meaning that for the duration of your employment here, I am both your visionary and your taskmaster. I'm very pleased with the work that's been done so far by our technicians, so for those of you who are just joining us today, you're joining a stellar team. Just keep up the good work and all should be fine."

Well. That sounds a bit intimidating as well, as far as Harry's concerned, but perhaps it will be fine. He saw that Niall started to glow a bit when Winston mentioned the crew being a stellar team, so at least he's praising people.

"Right," Winston continues. "Dressers, you're the largest contingent starting today, so if you could all follow your new supervisor, our lovely Costume Manager, Caroline Watson, she'll sort you out."

A woman who must be their new boss stands and makes a beckoning motion at no one in particular. Harry had actually been interviewed by the Stage Manager, a pleasant bloke in his forties called Paul, rather than Caroline, so this is his first time seeing her. She's a slight woman, with dark skin, long hair, and a mouth set in a straight line screaming that she means business. Harry quickly moves to the edge of the stage where she's hovering (stage right, he reminds himself), giving Niall a half-wave goodbye.

Six or seven other people are also making their way towards Caroline, and Harry feels a bit awed. Like, he knew _Dirty Rotten Scoundrels_ was a fairly major production, but he hadn't realised how many dressers it necessitated. Lots, it seems.

Caroline waits until they've all accumulated into a blob in front of her before saying brusquely, "Right, onto the costume shop, then." She takes off at a remarkably rapid pace considering her five-inch heels, the rest of them following the clacking noise through the narrow corridors.

Harry feels as though his heart might beat right out of his chest. A real West End costume shop. Only what he's been training throughout uni to reach.

Caroline opens the door, and one by one they walk inside, Harry towards the back of the pack. And--well. It's a bit disappointing, if Harry's being totally honest with himself. Not really any bigger than the one at school, and no busy hive of people sewing anything. No one’s in there at all, actually. Though that makes sense, he reminds himself, as the costumes really ought to be complete at this point for the cast to put them on starting Monday.

"Gather round, everyone," Caroline says a bit impatiently, gesturing the group into the centre of the room. "As you know, I'm Caroline Watson, costume manager and your direct supervisor. I've developed the tracks for each of the dressers that you'll follow throughout the show in consultation with our stage manager Paul, so we're going to get started on you learning those pretty much straightaway. I'm assuming you've all read the copies of the libretto that were supplied to you?" Everyone nods in unison, but Harry notices that a couple look a bit shifty-eyed. "Good, then. Why don't you all introduce yourselves, then? You, start," she says, pointing--shit--at Harry.

"Um, hey," Harry draws the words out a bit as he tries to figure out what to say. "I'm Harry Styles. I just finished at Wimbledon, so this is my first proper job. I'm quite looking forward to it?" He finishes with a big smile, hoping that it'll charm her.

Caroline seems to be satisfied, since she just moves on to the next person. Harry tries hard to keep everybody's names straight, but he knows even as he's doing it that he's fighting a losing battle. He knows for sure that the bloke with short brown hair and stubble who looks like he frequents the gym is Liam, and that the tiny girl with big eyes is Jade, but beyond that it's all a bit of a blur.

"Excellent, everyone, glad to have you," Caroline tells them once everyone has gone. "So that you all know, Liam's worked for me before and you can consider him a bit of a head dresser. Don't worry, it's not an official role, but definitely make sure to consult him first with any immediate problems, as I probably won't be in the actual wings." Liam stands up a bit straighter and looks distinctly pleased with himself. "So Liam already knows his track, then, dressing Mr Lindsay, who’s playing Lawrence. Mr Lindsay is a very distinguished actor, so I’m trusting you here, Liam.”

“I won’t let you down,” Liam tells her earnestly. Harry considers himself a pretty earnest person, on the whole, but he’s clearly got nothing on this guy.

Caroline looks strongly like she is refraining from rolling her eyes. “Cheers, Liam. So, tracks for the rest of you. I’ll be letting you know what your role during the show will be now, and then we’re going to spend today and tomorrow walking you through it over and over. You can practise your track on your own this weekend, and by Monday you should have it memorised and ready for the actors to arrive.”

The dressers all look at each other a bit nervously. Harry wholeheartedly includes himself in this nervousness. He has to be totally ready by _Monday_?

“Styles,” Caroline says while Harry’s still lost in thought, causing him to jump a little. “You’ll be dressing the character Freddy, played by Mr Tomlinson.”

Harry’s mouth goes completely dry in an instant, causing him to make a weird choking noise that clearly alarms Caroline. “Everything okay, Styles?” she asks.

After coughing for a moment he manages to say, “Uh. Yes. So that’s--that’s _Louis_ Tomlinson, yeah?”

“Yes,” Caroline says slowly, as though Harry’s a bit dim. “Louis Tomlinson. Playing Freddy.”

“He doesn’t--he doesn’t have a personal dresser?”

Caroline looks a bit less confused, then. “Ah. Well, normally he does have someone that he requests, but his previous dresser has just started another job. Paul felt that you’d be a good personality match as a replacement. Don’t worry, I’ll be giving you plenty of additional support--I know it’s your first show, we’re not just going to totally throw you under the bus.”

Harry is breathing a bit more easily now and gives Caroline a nod and a smile, though he does feel somewhat lightheaded. _Louis Tomlinson_. Good god. Like, Harry obviously knew that Louis Tomlinson was working on this production, but he never dreamed that they’d entrust a kid fresh out of uni with dressing him. For Christ’s sake, Tomlinson’s only twenty-eight and he’s already won a fucking Olivier award. He’s been in at least five major West End productions already, and gotten positive notices every time--even when the production itself was reviewed poorly. As one review that Harry may or may not have nearly memorised says, “Louis Tomlinson is definitively the future of the London theatre scene.” Who is Harry to be even in his presence, much less--

Oh Christ. As his dresser, it is now literally Harry’s job description to _touch Louis Tomlinson_. Sometimes in fairly inappropriate places.

Harry can’t decide whether this is the best thing that’s ever happened to him or the worst.

\--

By Monday morning, Harry has decided. This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to him.

On the bright side, he’s progressed somewhat from the previous week. He’s easily able to make it through the stage door now and say hello to Niall as he goes. The stage door is no problem, and neither is the costume shop where Harry is required to sign in with Caroline to begin his day.

It’s just that there’s a new door that he can’t bring himself to go into now--the dressing room marked “LOUIS TOMLINSON.”

Loitering outside the door is ridiculous behaviour, and Harry knows it. But Harry’s been proper obsessed with Louis Tomlinson for the last three years. He’s seen every fucking production the bloke’s been in since Harry arrived in London. He’s read Louis Tomlinson’s interviews with the arts pages of all the newspapers. He obsessively checked Twitter throughout the 2013 Oliviers ceremony for Louis Tomlinson’s win, and forced all of his friends to be completely silent through the ITV broadcast of the ceremony highlights _just in case_ Louis Tomlinson came back and said something else. He’s also wanked to Louis Tomlinson’s performance of “Wilkommen” from Cabaret (he was the Emcee) at the Olivier Awards multiple times, so, like. There’s that.

In short, Harry’s feeling a bit like he’s going to pass out. The letters reading “LOUIS TOMLINSON” seem to be almost growing, becoming larger as if they’re preparing to claw their way into his brain.

Harry shakes his head brusquely, trying to ignore his squirming stomach. Right. This is his job. He has to do it. Louis Tomlinson is just another person.

_Just another really fucking fit, incredibly talented person._

Harry squares up his shoulders, summons all of his inner strength, turns the door’s handle and flings it open forcefully as he strides into the room.

“Ow!” comes a sharp shout from behind the door, and then _Louis Tomlinson_ emerges. 

Harry just hit Louis Tomlinson with the door. He freezes, and evidently his brain has frozen as well, since all he can get out of his mouth is a weak, “Oops?” 

Louis Tomlinson is in front of him. In the flesh. God, he’s even more attractive in person. Who let him wear such tight trousers? It should be illegal for Harry to have such a clear vision of Louis Tomlinson’s thighs, Jesus.

“Hi,” Louis Fucking Tomlinson says, sounding a bit confused. Harry notices--imagines? What is even real right now--Louis slowly checking Harry out, top to bottom. “Er--are you in the right room?”

“Yes,” Harry mumbles, looking at his feet to avoid looking at Louis and passing out from the way his forehead crinkles a little when he’s confused. This is not a particularly promising start to a new job. “Um. I’m Harry. Harry Styles. I’m your dresser.” And sod it all, the mussed-yet-perfectly-sexy hairstyle that Harry has always assumed was due to some stylist’s genius seems to actually be the natural state of Louis Tomlinson’s hair. How is this fair?

There is a short pause before Louis says, “Ah.” 

He doesn’t continue. Harry wants to sink into the floor and die. “Sorry about crashing into you?” he offers weakly.

“No worries, mate,” Louis Tomlinson says, and Harry _really_ needs to stop thinking of him with both names.

After another small awkward silence, Harry asks, “So, is there anything I should know about your personal preferences for your dressers, Mr Tomlinson? Any duties outside of what Caroline would have told me that I’ll be expected to perform?”

Louis’s face turns slightly red, though Harry can’t figure out what he said wrong. All of the professors back at uni talked a lot about how personal the dresser-actor relationship is, and how much the role depends on what the actor wants from his dresser. Surely Louis knows that? “Er. Can’t think of anything just now,” Louis says slowly. “And just call me Louis, really. I can’t possibly be older enough than you to warrant you calling me Mr Tomlinson.”

“Seven years,” Harry answers automatically, before turning red himself. Great. Now he doesn’t seem like a stalker at _all_.

The good news is that Louis at least seems to be amused by this, judging by the broadening smile on his face. “So you know how old I am.”

“Professional research,” Harry says with as much dignity as he can summon. “Standard in the industry.”

“If you’re only twenty-one,” Louis says curiously, “just how much experience do you actually _have_ in the industry?”

Harry can feel his blush deepening, but he keeps looking Louis in the eye. The absurdly beautiful, ocean-blue, fuck-everything eye. “Well. This is my first proper job. But I was at uni for costume design before this. Wimbledon, at University of the Arts.”

“Impressive,” Louis says. He runs his eyes over Harry in a way that makes Harry feel as though his blush is spreading across his entire body. _Get it together, Styles_ , he tells himself sternly. _There’s no way that Louis Tomlinson is checking you out._

“Not as impressive as you,” Harry blurts out suddenly. God, he’s going to be fired for being a stalker by the end of the day at this rate.

Louis’s smile continues to grow, giving him endearing little crinkles by his eyes. Harry, on the other hand, looks like a proper nutter, shifting his weight back and forth a bit and _feeling_ a blush creep its way up the back of his neck.

“Er,” Harry says, hoping to recover, “so, like. Is it okay if I check your costumes, and all?”

“Wouldn’t want to stop you from doing your job,” Louis smirks. Harry moves nervously toward the rack of costumes while Louis takes a seat on the room’s overstuffed sofa. He’d really kind of been hoping that Louis had somewhere else to be, so that Harry wouldn’t have to do this with him here.

Or at least, like, something else to _do_ other than sit on the sofa and blatantly stare at Harry. He can see Louis out of the corner of his eye while he runs his hands over the costumes, and Louis isn’t even pretending to do anything other than stare. Mostly, it seems, at Harry’s bum.

 _Well_. Harry’s got a nice enough arse, and all, but nothing that warrants staring at in quite that manner. Especially if you are a major figure in the British theatre scene who has never commented one way or another on gender preferences. (Okay, Harry has googled _louis tomlinson gay???_ a time or two.)

“Where are you from, Harry?” Louis asks idly behind him. 

Harry starts before slowly swivelling to face him. “Um. Cheshire, originally. Tiny town called Holmes Chapel. It’s quite nice.”

“D’ya miss it?”

“Some parts,” Harry shrugs, before deciding to go for broke. Fuck it, Louis has already been staring at his arse, no need to act shy. “Like, I worked in a bakery, which was fun. But I don’t miss the being-closeted part.”

Louis lets out an interested hum and sits up a bit straighter. “Not a very welcoming place, then?”

Smiling inwardly, Harry hedges, “I don’t know that I’d say that, exactly. Just, like--I suppose a lot of it was me not feeling ready. Too young, like.”

Louis nods sagely. “Quite scary, I’m sure. Moved here for uni, then?”

“Yeah, costume design, like I said. Not that I’m not hoping to be your dresser forever,” Harry says and risks a cheeky smile.

“Oi, how dare you imagine that there’s anything out there better than being my dresser!” Louis cries.

Fortunately, just as Harry is running out of costumes to check over and is getting worried about what to do with his hands next, the PA system announces, “Overture and beginners, please,” reminding Harry that he is in fact about to begin his first full run of a West End production. His hands feel a bit clammy.

“So, er,” Harry says while moving his hands stiffly between the costumes, “you’re not a beginner, but it’s probably time for you to go ahead and get into your first costume, Mr Tomlinson. That’ll be this one, here.” Louis’s costumes make a neat progression throughout the show, from least tailored to most, which will make Harry’s job quite simple, thankfully.

Louis is looking at Harry like he just grew a second head. “Everything all right there?” he asks, even as he takes the costume from Harry and unceremoniously takes off his shirt.

 _Jesus._ If Harry had been all right before (he wasn’t), he certainly wasn’t now that he could see Louis Tomlinson’s bronzed and gorgeous torso, with just a small hint of a tummy sitting over his abs. Harry’s probably never going to stop wanking to images created at work. He’s resigning himself now. “Er,” he says when he realises Louis is still waiting for a response, “yes.”

“You don’t look all right,” Louis points out, tragically pulling the hideous striped shirt on over his head and removing his chest from Harry’s sight. Probably for the best, though. On the other hand, Louis instead starts removing his trousers, which may well be even more dangerous.

“I’m just--I’m nervous about the run,” Harry confesses. “Ms Watson’s a bit scary, and what if I cock it up? What if I don’t get you the right costume at the right time, or what if something rips and I can’t fix it fast enough?”

Louis pauses, then, once he’s got his trousers off, comes over to Harry and puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. _Louis Tomlinson is standing right next to Harry in just his pants. While touching him. Louis Tomlinson is touching him while he is very nearly naked._

Harry realises suddenly that he may or may not be staring at Louis’s bulge, and quickly rips his gaze up to meet Louis’s. Who now looks more than a bit amused, while still retaining his concern. “Harry. Nothing is going to be so wrong that you’ll get fired. Or even screamed at, probably. You know what you’re doing, and anyway, the whole reason we have technical rehearsals is to get these kinks worked out. Plus, it’s only our first technical rehearsal, so it’ll be stops and starts all day. Nothing will be fast enough for you to need to be worried.”

Oh. Harry knew that. He’d just forgotten, with all that was happening. Like Louis Tomlinson turning out to be a real person, who is also very funny, and quite kind. He manages to take a deep breath, and feels a little calmer. “Right. Sorry about, you know. Freaking out a bit.”

“No worries, Harry,” Louis tells him cheerfully, pivoting away to pull on the tragically oversize trousers for his first scene. “Part of the job, innit? We’re to calm each other down.”

“That sounds quite nice,” Harry says, a smile spreading over his face again.

Louis moves close enough to Harry to pinch his cheek before focusing on his shoes. “All part of that dresser-actor bond, baby.”

Harry basks in the glow of having a bond with Louis for a moment before noticing what he’s actually doing. “Are you serious? You’re not going to wear socks with those shoes? Louis, that’s disgusting!”

The ensuing argument--and Harry’s ability to convince Louis that yes, socks are _mandatory_ in all costumes and it’s unhygienic to suggest otherwise--starts to convince Harry that maybe he’ll be okay at this dressing-Louis-Tomlinson thing after all.

\--

As the two weeks of rehearsals come to an end, Harry feels pretty secure in his job. Sure, he’s not got anything on Liam, either in earnestness or in sheer frenzy of movement, but Harry likes to think that he’s got more of a calming presence backstage. Louis hasn’t been late for an entrance yet, even coming from his quick change, which Harry counts as a personal victory. Harry’s, like, a total pro now at this dresser thing. He’s got this apron with tons of pockets that he’s constantly wearing, full of things like thread and scissors, so he can solve pretty much any minor costume problem that arises in the moment.

There’s just one problem. Harry might be just a bit _too_ good at forming a relationship with the actor he’s dressing.

As in, Harry’s pretty sure that Louis Tomlinson wants to fuck him.

And Harry isn’t exactly opposed.

It’s been over a week of nonstop innuendos from Louis, accompanied by long up-and-down scans of Harry’s body that always seem to spend an inordinate amount of time on his crotch. Yesterday, Harry deliberately brought a banana as a snack with the sole intention of deep-throating it. He’s not proud.

(He is a bit proud of the effect it had on Louis, though, who turned deep red and couldn’t stop coughing for a full minute.)

But Louis still hasn’t exactly _said_ that he’s interested. Harry’s been in and around theatre long enough now to know where making assumptions about men in musical theatre being gay can get you--even when said men are staring at your cock multiple times every day.

While Louis is onstage singing about wanting “great big stuff” (if only he wanted _Harry’s_ ), Harry wanders over towards Niall’s perch on stage right, where some kind of joke must be coming through his headset. Niall’s nearly doubled over on his stool, laughing silently and brushing tears from his eyes. When he sees Harry approaching, though, he makes an effort to sit up and gestures him over. “What’s up, Styles? How’s the gig treating you so far?” Niall whispers.

“Good!” Harry tells him, a bit too enthusiastically, since Niall has to motion for him to lower his voice. “Sorry. Good. I quite like everyone on the crew.”

“...but?” Niall asks, clearly hearing the hesitation in Harry’s voice.

Harry shifts and starts twisting his rings. “D’you happen to know if Louis is gay?”

It doesn’t seem to be a question Niall was expecting. “Well,” he says slowly, “I guess I don’t, not properly. But I know he’s quite close with Zayn Malik, y’know, the one who’s producing? He’s stopping by for tonight’s run, so I can ask him then, if you like.”

“Zayn Malik is producing this?” Harry asks breathlessly. “Like, pop star Zayn Malik?”

“That’s the one,” Niall chuckles. “I think his technical title is Executive Producer, since he’s obviously too busy to do much more than invest money and show up every once in a while. But yeah, he’s got some money riding on this doing well.”

This is a fucking _revelation_. Harry’s been obsessed with Zayn Malik for ages, ever since he first appeared on X Factor. One of his projects at uni was literally just a portfolio of possible stage outfits for Zayn. Not his best grade, but some of his proudest work. “Nialler, think I could actually meet him?”

Niall seems to find this funny, but Harry’s not sure why. He’s too excited to care if Niall thinks he shouldn’t be starstruck. “Sure, mate, I reckon I could make that happen for you pretty easily. Just hang around backstage after the show, he’ll definitely come back.”

“Great!” Harry squeaks out, just as Louis’s song comes to an end. He scurries away to the correct wing, ready for Louis’s exit, water bottle already uncapped. 

He’s just in time, since a moment later, Louis runs off, clearly full of the adrenaline that comes from performing. Louis grabs the water bottle and chugs half of it quickly.

Harry frowns. “You’ll have to wee all through the dance number if you drink all of it,” he admonishes.

Louis just grins and pinches Harry’s cheek. “Maybe it’ll make me dance faster, babe!” he says cheerfully as he wanders closer to the fly rail, probably looking to annoy someone. He makes sure to slap Harry’s arse as he moves past him, and Harry can’t be bothered to tell him not to pick on Liam when it feels like his heart is going to fly out of his throat.

God, he hopes Niall comes through for him. Harry kind of can’t imagine anything worse than Louis not being gay.

\--

Harry is ready to climb out of his skin after the runthrough, he’s so exhilarated. The run went _perfectly_ , which, like, thank god, because they only have three more rehearsals before the first night of preview performances. One of Louis’s jackets lost a button, but Harry was able to pop one back on straight away, and had a throat lozenge ready for Louis when he asked for one. 

No matter what Niall and Liam say, Harry definitely did _not_ blush for a solid half hour after Louis took the lozenge, rubbed a hand gently over Harry’s shoulder, and whispered, “Hazza, no other dresser could hold a candle to you.”

(So Harry _might_ have gotten hard from Louis saying that. Look, he has to run his hands up and down Louis’s muscular thighs all night. Plus he’s got a strong need to be praised. Harry has never claimed to be perfect.)

Between the run going perfectly and the knowledge that he’s about to meet _Zayn Fucking Malik_ , Harry’s been a bit frenzied after the show. He can feel himself doing it, but somehow he’s powerless to stop it. If there is even a small chance that Zayn Malik is going to turn up in Louis’s dressing room, by god, it is going to be the cleanest that Louis’s dressing room has any hope of being.

Louis seems both confused and somewhat amused by Harry’s behaviour, as he watches Harry hanging up all of the costumes at record speed before turning his attention to Louis’s makeup counter. Harry has _priorities_. “Haz, love, what are you doing?”

“Just straightening up,” Harry says, and his voice has somehow gone up an octave. Maybe that second Red Bull wasn’t his smartest idea. Well, maybe Louis won’t notice.

“Harry,” Louis says, now sounding concerned. He gets up from his pose of being sprawled on the sofa and starts to move a hand up and down Harry’s back, in what may be an attempt to soothe him. “What’s going on?”

Harry cannot have Louis trying to _soothe_ him, Jesus. He’s not that strong. For god’s sake, he’d been wanking to the guy for years, and then somehow Louis turned out to be funny and kind and even better-looking in person. The last thing he needs is for Louis to exhibit signs of _caring_ about him. Harry refuses to still, and keeps straightening up the counter.

“Haz?” Louis tries again, and oh, Harry had forgotten that Louis asked a question.

“Nothing’s wrong, really!” he says quickly. “Just--you know. Heard Zayn Malik might be coming back here, don’t want it to be a pit.”

Louis lets out a loud laugh, and Harry’s _really_ not sure what’s funny about this. “Oh, Harry. I’ve known Zayn for years--he’d be more confused by the place _not_ being a pit.”

“No reason we can’t surprise him,” Harry mutters, rubbing viciously at a blush stain that seems to have set in on the counter. How did he miss that?

“Okay,” Louis says slowly, seeming to give up on calming Harry. “Well, whatever makes you feel better. I think--I think Zayn might actually already be backstage? He tends to be in the wings, you know. I might head out there, try to track him down. Want to come?”

Well. Yes, but now that he knows this fucking stain’s on the counter, Harry knows he won’t be able to leave tonight without getting it out. “Just as soon as I’m done with this stain, I’m right behind you,” he promises. “Be there soon as I can.”

“Harry, the stain really doesn’t matter,” Louis protests.

Harry looks up and makes sure to smile broadly at Louis so that he’ll stop worrying. (He maybe spends a little too much time in general focused on getting Louis to stop worrying, but. Well.) “Lou, this’ll make me feel better. Wind down from the run a bit, you know? I swear, it won’t take a minute.”

“Okay,” Louis says dubiously. “I’ll see you in the wings, then. I really do want you to meet Zayn.”

“Right behind you,” Harry grins, and gives Louis a thumbs-up. 

That _finally_ convinces Louis to leave the room--really, Harry’s a much more effective stain-cleaner when he doesn’t have Louis standing there and distracting him. It barely takes more than a minute before he triumphantly waves the rag he’s been using around and declares the stain vanquished. 

After another minute of adjusting his headscarf and hair in the mirror, and _maybe_ dabbing on just a tad of Louis’s lip colour (he’ll never know), Harry declares himself ready to meet Zayn Malik. Probably. At least ready to meet him, maybe not ready to speak to him.

Once he gets to the wings, he can see that Louis was right, and that Zayn is already there. And god, what is _with_ Harry’s luck lately, in terms of people being unfairly attractive? Like, obviously Harry knew Zayn was gorgeous--he spent months staring at pictures of him while he was using Zayn for a costume project, after all. But just like Louis, nothing fully compares to seeing Zayn in person, in his oft-photographed leather jacket and quiff and--is that _eyeliner?_

Harry’s stopped at the back of the small crowd of people congregating around Zayn, with Louis in the centre of the circle right next to him. Niall’s up there as well, slapping Louis on the back and loudly predicting another Olivier in his future.

And then.

It happens almost in slow motion, it seems. 

Harry pushes his way into the crowd a bit, just enough forward to get a clearer view of Louis and Zayn, but not really enough for Louis to spot him. Especially as Louis is facing away from the crowd, arms flung around Zayn Malik as he whispers rather intimately in his ear.

 _Good friends, loud crowd ___, Harry desperately tries to rationalise to himself.

Then Louis plants a kiss just below Zayn’s ear and nuzzles into his neck, and just stays there, locked in the embrace.

Harry can’t quite bring himself to try to rationalise that.

Niall spots him, and gives him a cheery thumbs-up, as though Harry hasn’t already worked out for himself that Louis is gay. Obviously the follow-up question was gay _and single_ ; knowing that he’s gay and in a fucking secret relationship doesn’t do Harry a bit of good. Harry smiles back weakly and turns to go, bumping into Liam as he does so.

“Not sticking around to try to get Zayn Malik’s autograph, then?” Liam asks him, smiling wryly.

“Er. Seems a bit weird to get someone’s autograph when he technically is responsible for my pay,” Harry manages. Why can’t Liam see that he needs to _leave_ already and let him alone?

“My thoughts exactly,” Liam agrees, and slings an arm around Harry’s shoulders. “I was just headed to the pub, if you’d rather join me there instead?”

A pint sounds like a _completely_ acceptable alternative to watching Louis and Zayn be the most attractive closeted couple in the universe, so Harry says, “Brilliant idea, mate,” and lets himself be guided out the door without looking back even once.

\--

“Liam, ‘s just--’s not like I’m _offended_ on my own behalf,” Harry slurs several pints later. “‘S just--like, who does that? Who flirts and pinches and stares when they’re already fucking Zayn fucking Malik?”

“That’s pretty bloody awful,” Liam agrees earnestly. His eyes are even bigger now. He looks even more like a puppy.

“You look like a puppy,” Harry tells Liam. He’s not sure that he meant to say that out loud, but he’s largely all right with it.

“Thanks?” Liam says, sounding a bit confused. He shouldn’t be confused. Puppies are lovely.

Just like Louis. Louis is so lovely. Harry puts his head down on the table, feeling a bit overwhelmed by it all. “I just really want to suck Louis’s cock,” he mumbles into the table.

“What was that, mate?” Liam asks.

Harry rolls his head so that the side of his face is resting on the table, letting him see Liam. “I really want to suck Louis’s cock, Liam,” he repeats. “It’s--’s a very nice cock. I can tell. Like, I’ve touched it. In my job! I’ve touched it in my job,” he clarifies, when Liam’s eyes get wider.

“Harry, I don’t know how you’re doing your job,” Liam says slowly, “but I’ve definitely never touched the cock of someone that I’m dressing. Like, ever.”

Hmm. Harry’s pretty sure that when Louis asked him to check and make sure he was securely in his dance belt, it was in a completely professional manner. He tells Liam so.

“Yeah, that’s, like, not professional at all,” Liam says, now clearly horrified. “It sounds a bit like sexual harassment, actually. He should definitely adjust his own dance belt if he doesn’t want you getting the wrong idea.”

“Maybe I was getting the right idea,” Harry mutters defiantly.

“Not if he’s dating Zayn Malik,” Liam points out, and _fuck_ , he’s right, but that is not at all what Harry wants to hear right now.

“Maybe I’m supposed to be the other woman, and gang up with Zayn and ruin his life. Did you see that Cameron Diaz movie? Do you think me touching his cock counts as cheating?” Harry ponders.

Liam gently bangs his own head on the table. Possibly he’s as tired as Harry is. “No, that movie looks bloody awful, and you should never make life choices based off of Cameron Diaz movies. Also, I think that whether that counts as cheating is probably between him and Zayn. Not our business, really.”

Harry sighs deeply. “I’m sure you’re right, Liam.”

Seemingly happy that Harry’s in agreement now, Liam pulls Harry in and ruffles his hair. “On to the next, eh, Styles?”

Harry freezes. “Liam--I don’t think--it’s a little too soon for me to be--er. It’s not that I don’t like you, but--”

“Buggering fuck, not me!” Liam shouts, before looking around and lowering his voice. “Sorry. Just. Not what I meant. Sorry for any confusion. I’m actually not gay? I was just trying to encourage you, like.”

“Ah,” Harry says, blushing deeply. “Er. Sorry--sorry for assuming.”

“Totally understandable,” Liam says.

Even though Harry’s drunken haze, it’s clear that their night is not recovering from this. “Well, thanks for the company, mate. Think I’ll be heading off now,” Harry says, trying to sound cheerful and not at all like he’s fleeing Liam’s company.

Liam stands. “You all right to get home? I can walk you to the station or summat--”

“I’ll be fine,” Harry quickly cuts him off. “Just got to sleep it all off, yeah? The alcohol and the Louis thing.”

“Right,” Liam says, clearly still worried. “Well. Again. Sorry for the confusion.”

“No worries, mate, it was me as well.”

“We’ll have to do it again sometime!” Liam says cheerfully. “Well. Hopefully without the confusion, next time.”

This finally draws a laugh out of Harry. “Sounds brilliant, mate,” he tells Liam, and finds that he means it, ready to try again in the future and hope for a less awkward encounter. 

Well. Probably. When he’s sober, he might feel differently.

\--

Rehearsal the next day is--well, it’s a bit awkward, to be honest. It’s like Harry can’t quite shake the weird vibes that descended on him the night before with Liam. Probably karma for assuming that a man in theatre is gay. Harry _knows_ better than that, honestly.

So. Of fucking _course_ that would be the day that Louis gets a rip in his trousers. More specifically, the inseam of his trousers rips a bit during one of the dance numbers. 

Watching from the wings, Harry can see as soon as it happens, and he is not exactly pleased. They’ve had _such_ good luck with keeping the costumes in good shape, and now Louis has to go and rip the fucking trousers. When he only has about two minutes offstage, no less. On a day when Harry has been trying very hard to only touch him in the absolute most professional manner.

There is literally no way to repair someone’s inseam while they’re still wearing the trousers in a hands-off manner. There just isn’t. Harry breathes deeply, scrounging through the pockets of his apron for the most durable thread that he can find. Hopefully this’ll get Louis through--the trousers only have to make it through one more scene. Surely even Louis can’t manage to do that much damage in one scene.

Well. Harry hopes so, anyway. Caroline will never let him hear the end of it if not.

Louis waddles off the stage awkwardly at the end of the number, clearly trying to keep the rip from getting any worse. Harry’s heart melts a little at that--at Louis trying to make Harry’s job easier on him. So sweet.

 _No_ , Harry reminds himself. Louis is making Harry’s job easier because he’s a professional. Not because he has feelings for Harry. He’s busy with international pop star Zayn Malik.

“God, sorry about this,” Louis says as soon as he gets over to their spot in the wings. Harry’s already on his knees, waiting with a threaded needle. He takes a deep breath and motions for Louis to hold his legs further apart. “I didn’t mean to, Haz, I swear.”

“I know,” Harry whispers back. How is he going to do this without driving himself crazy? Harry opts to pinch the fabric with one hand to pull it away from Louis’s thigh (his _muscular, shapely, gorgeous thigh_ , damn it all) and begins swiftly sewing there, so that he isn’t actually gripping Louis.

“I mean,” Louis jokes, “I always knew my hip thrusts were powerful, but I never knew they could actually cause fabric to rip.”

Due to a heroic effort, Harry doesn’t let himself laugh. Or even smile. He just keeps sewing, as if Louis isn’t even talking.

Louis falters a little before continuing, still hoping to draw Harry into the conversation. God only knows why. “Basically what I’m saying, Haz, is that you’re all going to have to bow to the power of my dick.”

“Is that so,” Harry responds coolly. He’s quite proud of himself. Louis shouldn’t be flirting when he has a boyfriend, anyway.

“Er,” Louis says. “Not--not if you don’t want to. I mean. You actually already are bowing, technically,” he points out weakly.

Harry doesn’t dignify this with a response, choosing instead to focus on tying off a knot at the end of the newly repaired seam. Without thinking, he automatically leans down and bites the remaining thread off with his teeth.

Louis completely freezes as soon as Harry does so, and _fuck_ if that isn’t the most unprofessional thing Harry has ever done. Jesus, he’s probably going to be fired for sexual harassment. He fucking put his mouth next to Louis fucking Tomlinson’s crotch. What kind of idiot does that?

It’s only when Louis abruptly shuffles his feet and attempts to turn away from Harry that he sees the real problem, outlined clear as day through the trousers: Louis is definitely, absolutely hard.

\--

Harry’s spent the last forty-five minutes of the run trying to rationalise Louis’s reaction. Like, anyone would get hard from having a mouth next to their crotch. It doesn’t _mean_ anything except that Harry was on his knees and putting his mouth right next to Louis’s cock. Anyone would react the same way. Arousal doesn’t know whether or not you have a significant other.

But, like. Harry was barely there for a second. That’s a pretty strong reaction for a tiny amount of time.

Harry shakes his head, hoping to force it to clear itself before Louis actually gets back into the dressing room. Caroline fortunately didn’t have any notes to give the dressers (fucking miraculously), but the cast was held on stage for notes from the director. Thank god, because it’s given Harry just a bit of space before Louis shows back up, with his sexual charisma and confusing erections.

 _Polite and cold_ , Harry reminds himself. _That’s how to stay professional. Totally polite, and not overly friendly at all._

The trouble is that Louis bursts through the door and immediately pulls Harry in for a hug, ruffling his hair enough to upset the headscarf Harry’s sporting. “God, you’re the best dresser I’ve ever had, Hazza! Can’t believe how quickly you fixed that tear. Bloody brilliant, you are.”

Harry moves back as soon as he can and rearranges his headscarf in a way that he hopes reads as annoyed instead of fond. “Just doing my job, sir.”

Louis looks at him, baffled. “Where’s this sir coming from? You’ve been calling me Louis since the first day.”

“Er,” Harry mumbles, caught off guard, “just trying to be a bit professional.”

“It’s not like I think you’re unprofessional,” Louis points out, drawing nearer to Harry for no apparent reason. His voice seems to get lower as he keeps talking. “I just called you the best dresser I’d ever had. Besides, you’re my favourite dresser, too. No one else tells me nearly so many bad jokes, or has been nearly so fucking fit.” He twines his fingers into Harry’s curls to punctuate that last bit, and Harry nearly loses all sense of time and space. God, he loves it when people play with his hair.

He loves it so much that it takes him a minute to realise what’s wrong with this scenario, and why Louis isn’t supposed to be quite so close to him. “Hold on!” he exclaims, shaking Louis out of his hair. “I’m not up for being the other woman, here. Liam says I’m not supposed to be Cameron Diaz.”

Louis takes a step back and looks even more confused than he had when asking Harry about the “sir.” “What are you talking about, H?”

“And no more nicknames, either,” Harry says, feeling braver. “I am not getting in the way of an established relationship, even if you are really fit. Now, I’m done for the night--all of your costumes are hung--so I’ll just see you tomorrow.”

He storms out immediately, full of a righteous fury and ignoring the rather stricken look on Louis’s face. Well, Louis shouldn’t be trying to lure Harry into being his mistress, or--or master, or whatever it is when you’re a man. Harry has standards, which he reminds himself of as he moves to the costume shop to sign out.

Harry’s so focused on reminding himself of his standards that he nearly trips over Niall on his way to do so. “Harry!” Niall says delightedly, grabbing his arm and pulling him to a stop. “I asked Zayn for you, and Louis is definitely interested in men. I reckon you’ve got a great shot, mate!”

Harry sighs exasperatedly. “I’m not trying to get with a man in a relationship, Niall.”

“What are you talking about? Louis is single,” Niall says.

“Didn’t much look that way, when he was wrapped all around Zayn Malik yesterday,” Harry informs him. “It might not be public knowledge, since surely Zayn isn’t allowed to be out, but they definitely look pretty cosy to me. I don’t know any friends who embrace each other like that. They’re definitely together.”

Niall clenches tighter on Harry’s arm, using it for support as he bends over in a gale of unstoppable laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Harry demands. “I’ve got eyes, I saw how they were acting.”

It takes a couple of moments before Niall finally chokes out, “It’s funny because _I’m_ fucking dating Zayn, mate.”

Harry stares at him in disbelief. “What? But--but they--”

“Yeah, Louis and Zayn have been friends forever,” Niall tells him. “They’ve always been tactile, like. But Zayn and I‘ve been together over a year now. Live together and everything,” he says proudly.

“But,” Harry says, dumbfounded. “How do you--you’re never in the media--”

“Can’t be, can I? Morality clause and all that,” Niall calmly says. “But I promise, mate, there’s only one bloke Zayn Malik’s fucking, and that’s me.”

Harry swallows. “So. Well. In that case.”

“Yeah, looks like you’ve been a right tit about this,” Niall says. “Been acting like Louis’s done something wrong?”

“I just told him I didn’t want to be Cameron Diaz,” Harry whispers, more ashamed than he’s ever been in his life.

Niall bursts into laughter again, before pulling it back together. “Sorry, sorry. But mate--you’re going to have to apologize for that. Louis hasn’t done anything wrong. Unless I’ve been reading this whole situation wrong, and you’re not actually interested in him.”

“No, I am,” Harry moans. “That’s why I was so upset in the first place.”

“Well, then it looks like you’ve got quite a bit of apologising to do,” Niall says, completely lacking sympathy.

Harry can’t quite bring himself to go back to Louis now. “I’ll do it tomorrow,” he mutters, utterly ashamed, before trudging off to the costume shop with Niall’s laughter accompanying him all the way.

\--

Back at his flat that evening, Harry opens a bottle of wine and tries to distract himself from the horror of what he’s done by watching _West Side Story_ and sketching how he would costume a stage production. It’s one of his favourite ways to spend some of his spare time, and is usually a foolproof way of working through whatever’s on his mind.

Only without quite intending to, Harry keeps drawing the Tonys to have Louis’s face, and before he even gets to “America” Harry gives up, choosing to just embrace it and wallow in his misery while watching some _X Factor_. 

It only takes Dermot O’Leary announces an upcoming performance from “ _X Factor_ success story Zayn Malik” for Harry to decide that literally the entire world is conspiring against him to make him feel like utter shite. 

Harry flips off the telly altogether at that point, burrowing his face into the cushion of the couch. The wine isn’t helping, _West Side Story_ didn’t help, and Dermot O’Leary certainly isn’t fucking helping him feel any better about this situation. He decides to text Liam for some sympathy.

_everything is awful apparently zayn’s actually dating niall :((((_

_wut? gret news!!!!!!!! so luois is single ?_

Harry throws his phone across the room. Everything is awful and Liam is bloody useless. 

After a few deep breaths, Harry feels a bit calmer. _Okay, Styles. It’s now or never. Are you going to apologise, grovel, and actually have a shot with the actor you’ve been lusting after for years? Or are you going to act like a prat and not be willing to admit your own stupidity?_

There’s only one way forward, so Harry puts a stopper in the wine and starts to plan. Tomorrow’s the last rehearsal before the preview performances begin, so Harry has to be on the top of his game.

\--

By the time Louis walks into the theatre the next morning, Harry’s already been there for two hours, setting up what at some point the previous night spiralled from simply making up with Louis to winning him over entirely.

Harry’s hidden himself at the end of the corridor where Louis’s dressing room sits, cleverly concealed by the door to Robert Lindsay’s dressing room. Mr Lindsay never gets to the theatre with more than ten minutes until call time, so it’s a safe place for Harry to hide for at least ten more minutes.

He’s able to peek around the corner just enough to watch a smile take over Louis’s face as he reads the note that’s taped on the door. “Harry?” Louis calls out, still reading, and Harry jolts behind the door faster than he would have thought possible.

After a moment, Louis seems to decide that Harry’s not near enough to hear, since Harry can hear the door to the dressing room open. There’s another pause before Harry hears a sound suspiciously like a coo--Louis must have seen the precisely prepared tea that Harry left for him as well as the long apology note.

Harry can feel his heart racing as he stands behind Mr Lindsay’s door. It seems like this is all going well, but Louis could be ready to forgive Harry and not actually want anything more to do with him now. He closes his eyes and tries to take a few calming breaths.

“Harry? What’re you doing there?” Liam asks. 

Harry squawks and jumps higher than he knew he could. “Jesus, Liam,” he hisses, hand over his heart. “Try to kill a man, why don’t you.”

“You’re the one lurking behind doors, actually,” Liam points out, infuriatingly reasonably. Harry is not _lurking_ , he’s just--waiting. It’s different.

“I was just going to say hello,” Harry huffs.

“Was there a reason you were going to do that in the dark?”

There’s clearly no making Liam see sense. “Hello, Liam, yes, lovely to see you, have a good day,” Harry blurts, and darts out before Liam can ask any more questions that Harry doesn’t have answers for.

It’s time. No going back now. Filled with nervous energy, Harry pushes Louis’s door open cautiously.

Before he can even get all the way inside, Louis grabs Harry by the hand and pushes him onto the small sofa, then moves to sit on top of him. Harry’s really not sure if this is a positive development or not.

Louis gazes down at Harry for a moment, looking quite serious. Finally, he says, “I found your notes.” 

Harry nods, not sure what kind of a response Louis is looking for.

“You know, last night I was quite confused,” Louis tells him. “I still don’t totally understand the bit about Cameron Diaz, because I think most of us would agree we’d be lucky to be like her. Successful, still quite fit at forty.”

Harry chooses not to explain himself. Louis seems to take it as a cue to go on. “But I heard from Niall that you thought I was in a relationship with Zayn.”

At this, Harry groans loudly. He makes a mental note to kill Niall, and tries to move his hand over his eyes so he won’t have to look at Louis anymore. Louis is too fast, though, and clasps Harry’s arms at the first sign of movement.

This is-- _not good_. Harry generally likes it a bit rough, and now Louis is fucking pinning down his arms. He tries to think of dead kittens to keep from getting hard, but he’s not confident it’s going to work this time. Harry can feel himself going pliant already, not trying to escape Louis’s hold.

“Were you jealous?” Louis asks, an undercurrent of amusement in his voice. “Thought I was with Zayn?”

“‘S not very nice of you,” Harry says in a very small voice. “I made you tea and wrote a nice letter, and you’re making fun of me.”

Louis lets go of Harry’s arms, making him feel at once much more relieved and much worse off. “Oh, god, H, I didn’t mean--I wasn’t trying to make fun of you. I just--well. I liked the idea of you jealous, a bit.”

“You did?”

“Of fucking course I did, Jesus, I’ve been bloody obvious about how I feel about you since we first met,” Louis bursts out. “Jealousy is _hot_.”

Harry squirms a little. Louis is still sitting on Harry’s thighs, and Harry can feel himself starting to get hard. “So you thought you’d hold me down a little, as revenge?” he asks cheekily.

Louis stares down at him for a minute. “You’re a bloody menace, Harold,” he says gruffly, then leans down--pinning Harry’s arms down again in the process--and kisses him.

It takes Harry a second to respond--he’s feeling a little overcome by the sensation of Louis’s lips _actually touching his_ \--but once his brain catches up, he lifts his torso up as much as he can with Louis still on top of him to respond in kind. Louis’s mouth is soft, and hot, and _opening_ to let their tongues come together.

Harry probably should have assumed that Louis would be a good kisser, but this is far and away better than anything from his fantasies. Louis is also fulfilling a particularly key component right now of mostly taking the lead, since Harry is frankly too caught up in the realisation that he is _finally kissing Louis fucking Tomlinson in real life_ to be fully in the moment.

“Harry, are you--Jesus, Tomlinson, pull it the fuck together!” a voice snaps from the door. Louis sighs deeply and pulls away regretfully, leaving a sweet peck on Harry’s nose before sitting up.

“What d’ya want, Caroline?” he asks casually, and, oh. Well. That’s--that’s actually Harry’s boss, standing in the doorway.

Harry is not exactly achieving the ideals of professionalism he had hoped to live up to as a backstage dresser. “Hi, Caroline,” he says weakly, adding a bit of a wave that he immediately regrets.

Caroline rolls her eyes with more force than Harry knew was possible for a human to use. “You haven’t actually signed in yet, Harry. Been a bit busy?”

Harry bolts upright. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry! I got here before the shop was actually open and then--er. Yeah. A bit, um, busy. I guess.”

She arches an eyebrow. “I’ll let it slide once, but not more than that, Styles. Go sign in. Now.” Caroline exits as abruptly as she’d entered, leaving Harry to flop backwards on the sofa.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” he groans.

Louis leans over him, tracing the lines of his cheekbones. “Which part?”

“Any of it, really.”

“Er. Like, in a you wish it had never happened way?” Louis asks, and moves backwards to take his weight off of Harry.

“Shit, no, Lou,” Harry rushes to get out. “I--I liked the kissing you bit. More than liked. I do pretty fervently wish that my boss hadn’t walked in on that, though.” He clears his throat and looks up at Louis from underneath his eyelashes--a look he has on good authority can be fairly devastating. “Mostly because now I’m going to have to walk to the costume shop in trousers tight enough for everyone to see that I’m hard.”

As he suspected, at that, Louis clambers right back onto his thighs. He’s got to be able to feel Harry from where he’s sitting, Jesus. “That fast, really?”

“Hey,” Harry protests, “remember I’m much younger than you. Old man.”

“Ah, well, the joys of old age,” Louis says drily. “ _Some_ of us don’t have to go be exhibitionists.”

Harry’s dick twitches as soon as Louis brings up exhibitionism. It’s not, like, a _thing_ , it’s just a bit of a thing. Of course, Louis notices, because he’s a little shit. “Oh, you’re excited about it?” he asks playfully, backing off and standing beside the sofa. “Wouldn’t want to stop you, then.”

Harry shoots him a dirty look, but can’t hold it and is pretty sure he mostly ends up looking fond. He does know that when Caroline says now, she means it, so he reluctantly stands, adjusts himself, and starts heading for the door.

Before he can make it out, Louis grabs his arm, spins him around, and pulls him backwards to bend him into a movie-star kiss. When Louis lets him go again, grinning, Harry’s almost forgotten that he had somewhere to be at all.

“God, I’m glad you’re here,” Louis whispers, gives Harry another quick kiss, and then shoves him out of the dressing room.

Harry was wrong, that first day. Dressing Louis Tomlinson is absolutely the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

\--

_two weeks later_

"What if I bring the wrong costume?" Liam asks Harry desperately, clutching at his arm. "What if Mr Lindsay's trousers rip over his arse and I can't repair them quickly enough and he has to go onstage with his bum hanging out?"

Not laughing is proving to be very difficult. Harry should definitely be getting karma points for listening to Liam at all. "Liam," he says slowly, "how long have you been working as a dresser?"

"Um. Maybe two years? But that--"

"And Liam," Harry continues firmly, "why are you currently the dresser for Mr. Lindsay?"

Liam exhales, _finally_. "Because Caroline trusts me."

"Right!" Harry says, slapping Liam on the back. "And with good reason, too. Not a single one of those things you've imagined have happened in rehearsals or previews, because you're always ready."

"Opening night's different, Harry," Liam whispers, looking a bit green around the edges. 

Harry grips Liam by the shoulders and forces eye contact. "It is different. The energy's different, the audience is different. But you know what's not different? _The track you've had mastered for a fucking month, Liam._ Now take some deep breaths and pull it together, Payne. You'll be fine."

With one last pat on the shoulder, Harry leaves him to it, and goes off to Louis’s dressing room. Lou, the makeup artist for the show, is already working on him, and narrows her eyes at Harry as soon as he enters. 

“I’ve been burned by you two once too often during previews,” Lou says menacingly, gesticulating with the foundation brush she’s holding. It looks far more like a weapon than Harry really understood brushes to be capable of. “Harry. Louis. I’m serious. If you fuck up my makeup again, I’m going to Paul with concerns about professionalism.”

“Lou!” Louis shouts, betrayed. “How could you threaten to tear us apart like that?”

“Because more of your makeup is ending up on Harry’s shirt and in his hair than on your actual face, you wanker,” Lou hisses as she speeds up the foundation application. Harry doesn’t really understand why Louis is still fighting back--he’s far too cowed to argue at this point.

Plus, it’s true. Harry had an odd spot of foundation clearly visible in his hair last night, and Louis’s was, well, looking a bit uneven. It’s not like he is in favor of Lou having concerns about professionalism, but this isn’t exactly coming out of nowhere.

“We know it’s been… a bit out of hand, Lou,” Harry placates. “And I’d never do anything to mess up your makeup on opening night.”

“Or any other night in the future,” Lou insists.

“Or any other night in the future,” Harry echoes obediently, while Louis makes terrible faces at him in the mirror. “You know how much this production means for both of us. We’re very sorry that we’ve been making your job harder.”

Lou purses her lips and changes to a more gentle pace with the makeup application. “I’m still suspicious of both of you, but I’m going to choose to believe you for my own personal health and sanity.”

“Is there anything I can help with while you’re still here?” Harry asks, relieved that she seems to be letting it go. Not that he doesn’t _really_ enjoy fucking (honestly, mostly being fucked by, so far) Louis, but Harry’s going to be buried up to his ears in loans if he doesn’t manage to keep this job.

“Just got a couple more things to go, but thanks, love,” Lou says absently as she moves on to the rouge. Harry chooses to interpret that as his cue to actually do his own job and focus on checking over the costumes one last time before the performance.

As Harry quickly looks through the costumes for any tears or stains he might have missed, the silence of Louis pouting is almost deafening. Normally, he’s chatty as can be while Lou does his makeup, but he clearly hasn’t forgiven her yet and is choosing to protest in silence. Harry and Lou look at each other in the mirror and roll their eyes simultaneously.

“That’s me done, then,” Lou says, giving a last brush of powder to Louis’s nose. She exits, but not before rolling her eyes at Harry once again.

Honestly, Harry can sympathise. He’s quite annoyed with Louis at this point, too.

Once Lou leaves, he hands Louis his first act costume. “Got to get going, then. Winston’s giving his opening-night speech in ten minutes, love.”

“And you won’t snog me a little first?” Louis asks sulkily.

“I quite like being employed, actually,” Harry reminds him. “And you’d be rather difficult for them to fire, seeing as your name’s on all the posters, but it’s a bit too easy to get rid of me.”

Louis’s eyes widen, as though he hadn’t thoroughly thought through this. “Sorry, Haz,” he says, sounding more genuine. “For what it’s worth, I still don’t think they’d actually fire you.”

“Well, I don’t fancy testing it, anyway,” Harry says lightly, holding the trousers out to Louis. “Come on, now, you’ve got to go.”

Louis changes quickly out of his trackies and into the trousers, then takes the rest of the outfit from Harry and finishes himself off. “Do I look ready for opening night?” he asks, spinning slowly, and even though he’s playing it off as a joke Harry can hear a bit of a tremor in his voice.

“You look ready for another Olivier, darling,” Harry tells him. “Now, go have a pre-show chat with Ben, and I’ll see you in the wings.”

“You aren’t coming?” Louis asks, a bit of a panicked look on his face.

“Crew had our pre-show pep talk before any of you even got here,” Harry says with a bit of self-importance. “We’re far too busy for any of this last-minute nonsense. Go! You can’t be late!”

Louis rolls his eyes, automatically moving to kiss Harry before he remembers they’ve been forbidden. He scowls a bit, and Harry laughs and blows him a kiss instead. “Plenty of time for that later,” Harry reminds him. Louis returns the gesture and finally exits.

Harry cleans up a bit of the mess that Louis left behind ( _honestly_ , it’s like dealing with a child sometimes) before tying on his apron and heading out to the wings. Before he can even make his way into his customary spot, Harry’s nearly knocked over from the force of someone hugging him from behind.

“Harry!” Niall whispers joyfully. “How’re you feeling?”

“Bit nervous,” Harry admits, “but excited, mostly. Louis’s ready to piss himself.”

Niall chortles. “Not surprised. Zayn says he’s always been like that--all nerves until he actually steps onto the stage. You’ll have to find something to calm him down.” They hear a crash come from further backstage, and Niall sighs, immediately breaking into a half-jog to go take care of the situation. “Good show, Hazza!” he calls over his shoulder.

Harry shakes his head, relieved that it’s Niall and not he who has to investigate the crash. He takes a few moments to ensure that his and Louis’s area is set up for the night: costumes ready, water bottle in place, lozenges in Harry’s apron, and sewing supplies at the ready. Terrifying as it may be, he thinks they actually might be ready to go.

With just a few minutes left before showtime, the cast starts pouring into the wings. The nerves amongst everyone are apparent--laughter is just a tad too high-pitched, some chorus members’ hands are shaking, and Harry can hear Louis coming, he’s talking so loudly.

“Places!” Niall calls out, rushing along the side of the wings to get back to his station. “Places for the top of the show!”

Before Harry knows what’s happening, he suddenly can feel Louis draped all over his back, hugging him tightly. “Please tell me it’s going to be okay,” Louis whispers into Harry’s ear.

Harry turns within Louis’s embrace, twining his own arms around Louis in return and forcing him to make eye contact. “Hey,” he admonishes. “It’s going to be far better than okay. You’re Louis Fucking Tomlinson, Olivier winner and general crown prince of the West End.”

“All it takes is one bad show,” Louis says, clearly still worried.

“Which this is _not_ ,” Harry huffs. “Darling, you’re going to be brilliant. How could you not be? Playing a charming, charismatic con man--who wouldn’t believe you in the role?”

“I’m not confident that’s supposed to be a compliment,” Louis says, but Harry can see a smile’s beginning to grow. Good.

“To act, you have to draw on yourself, yeah?” Harry asks cheekily, and Louis pinches his arse in revenge. 

Behind them, the overture begins playing, and Harry can _feel_ Louis stiffening in his embrace. Tragically, in a nervous way, not a sexy way. Although--actually, that might do the trick, now that he thinks of it.

“Lou, they’re playing our song,” Harry jokes, and starts rubbing his hand on Louis’s crotch.

Louis almost jumps in surprise, and then tries to move away, but Harry’s quite determined. Now that the overture’s going, everyone from the crew should be at the flies or back in the dressing rooms. No other dressers set up in the particular wing where Louis’s changes take place, and none of the actors in the chorus enter or exit through this particular wing during the opening number.

If all goes according to plan, they _should_ be alone.

Harry’s willing to risk it. Having been told that he couldn’t kiss Louis, it’s still his duty as a… well… as someone that Louis is dating (so they haven’t defined their relationship yet, it’s early days still and they’re definitely exclusive) to calm him down before the show. Besides, calming down your actor is _definitely_ a part of the dresser job description.

Just maybe not in the way Harry’s choosing to handle it.

Ignoring Louis, who’s whispering reasons why they shouldn’t be doing this, Harry simply looks at Louis, gives him a broad wink, and then drops to his knees. He continues palming Louis through his trousers, and notes with pleasure that he’s already at least half-hard. “Are you really not going to let me, Lou?” he asks, almost pleading, eyes as wide as he can make them.

Louis just gapes at him a bit in response, clearly lost for words. Harry takes that as a victory and unzips Louis’s trousers to start nuzzling at Louis’s cock through his pants.

God, Harry hadn’t been wrong, those two short weeks before, when he was telling Liam how _nice_ Louis’s cock was. If anything, he’s really undersold it. Louis has _by far_ the nicest dick that Harry’s ever had the pleasure of becoming intimately acquainted with. It’s not as long as Harry’s own, but it’s plenty long enough, and more than makes up for it with its sheer _girth_. When he’s getting fucked, Harry feels absolutely obscene, like he’s being stretched to his limits.

Harry’s starting to get quite turned on, now, as he pulls Louis’s cock out of his pants with all of the reverence that he deserves. Harry notes with pleasure that he certainly hasn’t lost his touch. Louis is already fully hard, his penis turned a lovely purplish colour, straining as if it’s reaching for Harry’s mouth of its own accord.

“Haz,” Louis says hoarsely, “Haz, are you sure--are you sure you want--”

Instead of answering, Harry bends down and licks a long, slow stripe from Louis’s balls to the head. Louis lets out a long, low moan in response.

“Careful, darling,” Harry whispers. “You’ve got to stay quiet, so that Niall and the rest of them don’t hear you. Think you can manage that for me, love?”

Louis nods desperately, rutting a bit in the air to nudge his cock back at Harry’s mouth. Harry takes pity on him and bends back down to place a kiss to the head, then suck delicately at the tip. Listening carefully to the action onstage--they’re out of the overture and into the opening number--Harry decides it’s time to speed things up and, as the song onstage suggests, “give them what they want.”

Now trying in earnest to get Louis moving along, Harry relaxes his jaw and slowly takes Louis into his mouth. As he’d demonstrated on the banana, Harry is quite a pro at deep-throating, and prides himself on his ability to cover Louis’s entire cock. Once he’s got his mouth at Louis’s base, he nudges his own head at Louis’s thigh, silently asking him for his hands.

Two weeks of near-incessant sex has taught Louis to pick up on Harry’s nonverbal cues quite well, so he tangles his fingers into Harry’s hair, pulling just enough for Harry to be able to really _feel_ him. Harry moans around Louis’s cock, feeling his own stirring, and moves a hand to fondle at Louis’s balls.

“Doing so well, Hazza,” Louis whispers. “God, you look so fucking pretty, taking my cock like that. Proper ruined me for anyone else.”

Harry preens a bit, and starts bobbing up and down, slowly moving his mouth around Louis. He comes almost all the way off, drawing himself up until he’s just suckling at the head, then drops back down all the way to Louis’s base in one go. Louis lets out a moan at that, clearly unable to help himself.

“Sorry, Haz, know ‘m supposed to be quiet, but-- _Jesus_ , your mouth--”

Given the circumstances, Harry can forgive the noises. Besides, to be completely honest, he wouldn’t _totally_ mind if someone happened to walk in on the blowjob. Nothing to be ashamed of here. He makes happy noises around Louis to make sure he knows he’s forgiven, and Louis twines his fingers more tightly through Harry’s hair in response.

Despite the hands in his hair Harry pulls backwards and off for a moment, amused by the clear desperation in Louis’s eyes as he looks down at him. “Fuck my throat, love,” Harry rasps, excited by how hoarse his throat already is.

He clearly doesn’t have to tell Louis twice. As soon as Harry’s settled back onto his cock, Louis starts thrusting his hips rhythmically, moving into a faster and faster pace as he feels more comfortable. God, Harry _loves_ when Louis really lets go like this and is just willing to let him have it. Harry works to relax his jaw even further, thanking whoever is responsible for his lack of a gag reflex. He’s now fully hard in his own pants, but totally focused on Louis’s release. There’s only about a minute left of this song, and Louis _has_ to come before the end--some of the actors do exit in this wing at the end of it.

Harry taps at Louis’s leg and, once they’ve made eye contact, gestures towards the stage. Clearly Louis understands Harry’s meaning, since he starts fucking into his throat at an even faster pace, _ravaging_ the inside of Harry’s mouth so that he’s absolutely going to be talking with a rasp for days. Harry’s quite excited that everyone’s going to know what they were up to.

“Close, Haz,” Louis grunts out. “Need to--”

Harry makes sure to wind his arms around and press into Louis’s arse, ensuring that Louis can’t move anywhere. After a moment, Louis gives in, stops fighting, and comes down Harry’s throat. Quite spectacularly, if Harry does say so himself, even if it does cause him to gag a little at the end as he pulls off. 

Once Louis is done, Harry pulls off completely, wiping the come that spilled out to his cheeks off with a finger. “Tasty,” he murmurs, sucking on his finger to see Louis eyeing him hungrily.

There’s no time to wallow in it, though, since Louis’s cock is still hanging out of his pants, and suddenly Harry is processing that he’s hearing the audience’s applause--meaning that there are about to be people in their wing. “Buggering _fuck_ ,” Harry murmurs, then leaps to action, carefully putting Louis’s softening cock back into his pants and _just_ getting his trousers zipped up before Perrie, one of the chorus girls, exits into their wing. 

He’s still on his knees in front of Louis, but there’s not much that can be done about that. Harry makes a show of pulling thread out of his apron and looks carefully at Louis’s crotch, as though he’s making a completely legitimate repair that has somehow taken place in Louis’s zero moments onstage. Perrie just rolls her eyes at them and walks past.

“Think we fooled her?” Louis asks once she’s gone.

“Not a chance,” Harry whispers back, standing back up and wincing at the creak in his knees. This job is hell on his joints. “But she can’t prove anything.”

Louis pulls Harry into a loose embrace, crowing quietly with delight as he moves his hand to palm at Harry’s crotch. “Got off on that, did you, love? Me fucking your throat in the wings?”

“Course,” Harry admits easily. “But you don’t get to help me finish.”

“I don’t?” Louis asks, baffled.

Harry grins at him. “Nope. I’m going to wait and have a wank while I’m watching you sing onstage.”

“Dirty,” Louis breathes, clearly the opposite of appalled by the idea.

“So,” Harry continues, “you should think about that, while you’re onstage, instead of your nerves or any stupid critic.”

Louis laughs shortly. “The only danger is that I might get hard again myself, thinking about that.”

“Well, I suppose we can come up with something that might fix that,” Harry says thoughtfully. “Like maybe you can fuck me in the dressing room during intermission, as long as you don’t try to kiss me.”

“I do quite like kissing you,” Louis points out. “It’ll be difficult.”

“I think we can do it, Louis,” Harry says. “After all, like you say in the song, nothing is too wonderful to be true.”

Louis pinches his arse. “The song’s a parody, you wanker.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t believe it,” Harry tells him, unrepentant. “Especially if it ends with your cock in my arse.”

“You do have a point there,” Louis agrees.

Harry sighs and pinches Louis’s bum in return. “Almost your cue, love. Ready to go?”

“Think so,” Louis says, removing himself from Harry and straightening his clothes again. “After all, I’ve got this really fit boyfriend waiting for me in the wings.” 

Not leaving Harry time for a response, Louis winks at him and sails onstage to make his entrance. Harry is left floundering a bit, and finally does a twirl to express his happiness.

 _Boyfriend_. Louis Tomlinson is his _boyfriend_.

It really is true, then, what Louis sings every night: nothing is too wonderful to be true.

That, and that “we still deserve a hand.” For all of Harry’s big talk about wanking in the wings, he _definitely_ deserves a handjob from his new boyfriend.

Maybe Harry’ll even applaud while he does it.

\--

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to all for reading! please let me know what you thought! comments or come visit me on [tumblr](http://balanceds.tumblr.com) xx


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